


Slow Growth

by Jacqueline Albright-Beckett (xaandria)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domesticity, Fluff, Gardener!Cas, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaandria/pseuds/Jacqueline%20Albright-Beckett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with an herb garden, and slowly grew from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Growth

**Author's Note:**

> _a thousand thanks and baked goods to my indubitable beta team of lily, jess, and hannah. may the force be with you._

It started with an herb garden.

Not even anything that ambitious - Dean drove Cas to the big box home and garden store, and Cas picked three starters and a plastic planter, along with potting soil and a watering can. Dean was slightly baffled, but amused, pushing aside the duffels and cases of ammunition in the trunk to make room for it all.

“Do you want gloves?” he asked.

Cas considered his haul thoughtfully. “No,” he replied. “I want to feel the earth under my fingernails.”

* * *

 Cas got his wish - from that point forward his hands were almost never completely clean, soil staining the calluses he developed and pressed so deeply into the cuticles that no amount of scrubbing under a garden hose would ever dislodge it. Because they went back to buy a garden hose, too - and trowels, and stakes, and a trellis. The trellis was for the peas. He was going to grow peas now. Dean didn’t even like peas, but he still helped Cas shell the pea pods of his first harvest, unable to bring himself to dim the proud glow on Cas’s face as he brought in the basket.

* * *

 For Christmas, Charlie gave Cas a hori hori - a Japanese digging knife. Dean was a little jealous - partly because he kind of wanted one, and partly because he should have thought of it. He probably would have, if he knew that such a thing existed. It didn’t strike him until later that he was spending an awful lot of brain power on wishing he’d given Cas such a perfect gift.

* * *

As the trees unfolded their pale green leaves of spring, Cas spent hours outside, transforming the level spots of ground above the bunker into planting beds. He had a plan, he explained excitedly to Dean one evening, flipping open a spiral notebook and pointing out the careful sketches he’d made during the sullen winter months. “But I’m going to need some things.”

Dean discovered the existence of nurseries; he learned about “growing zones” and “perennials” and “solarization.” At first he was just letting Cas talk as the miles rolled away beneath the Impala, but by the time they’d pulled into a farmer’s market in Topeka, he found himself asking for clarification, which Cas was more than willing to give.

“What happens when we’re gone for a few weeks?” Dean asked, gesturing with a french fry over lunch.

“They’re plants,” Cas responded with a shrug. “They’ve been around for longer than … well, longer than you have, anyway. They can be left on their own for a while.”

“But who’s going to water them?” Dean pressed. “We can go weeks without rain in the summer.”

Which was how Dean roped himself into spending three days installing an automatic irrigation system. It was unseasonably warm, and the instructions were very badly translated from Chinese, but every time Dean was on the verge of throwing down the tubing and going inside, he looked over to see Cas. Even if he was humming to himself as he shoveled mulch or placed bricks on the edge of a terrace, somehow Cas seemed to know when Dean’s eyes were on him, and he would look up and smile. And Dean would smile back and look back down at the incoherent instruction sheet.

The sun was perhaps a half hour from setting when Dean clipped the tail from the last zip tie and stood back to admire his work, only to notice that Cas had also completed his own tasks. Instead of the lumpy grass and mud that had covered the ground three days before, there were five clearly defined planting beds, with black irrigation tubing running to each like a network of veins, the dark earth mounded within and patiently awaiting…

“We’re going to need more plants,” Cas said aloud. Dean looked over, startled at how he had been included, and then startled by how pleased he was by the inclusion.

* * *

 They needed enough plants, it turned out, to necessitate renting a pickup truck. The Impala’s trunk space had not been intended to accommodate the desires of an enthusiastic post-angelic green thumb. At one point, when Cas was handing up another gallon-sized tomato plant, he paused. “Dean,” he said, very seriously, “this is getting to be expensive, isn’t it?”

Dean nestled the plant next to two others just like it in the truck bed. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But -”

“Cas? If I say don’t worry about it, don’t worry about it. Worry about how we’re going to get these home without them falling over.”

Cas’s face fell into a new expression of concern, and Dean hid a small smile.

* * *

 Of course, getting the plants into the ground - another two-day undertaking - was not the last of it. There was weeding to be attended to, an activity that meant long hours of kneeling before the beds in the days after returning from a hunt. It was a wordless decision: Dean tended to the flower beds while Cas devoted himself to purging the vegetables of the intruders.

They rarely spoke. There didn’t seem to be much that needed saying. As evening fell and the birds began their piping goodnight calls, Dean would bring up two bottles of beer and they would sit on the edge of one of the beds and silently admire their handiwork, the comfortable quiet of companionship the only conversation they needed.

* * *

 It was early summer, and Dean was leaning against the refrigerator downing a glass of water during an afternoon break, when Sam asked the question. “So when did you get so into gardening, anyway?”

Swallowing, Dean shrugged. “It’s a hobby. It’s nice to have a hobby that doesn’t involve, you know, stabbing things.”

“You just…don’t strike me as the gardening type.”

“There’s a type?” Dean asked. “Who says I’m not the type? I’m not the poster boy for yoga, either, but I did plenty of that back with Lisa. Made her happy.” Sam raised a single inquiring eyebrow, and Dean’s words suddenly took on a new cast. “Not that Cas … I just like it, okay?”

“Uh huh,” Sam said, and Dean wanted to reach out and smack that know-it-all expression off his little brother’s face.

* * *

 Cas was staring critically at the row of bell peppers as Dean crested the hill. “I don’t think they’re getting enough sun.”

Dean squinted. “I guess the peas on the trellis catch the sun at the wrong angle.”

“They were fine, in the spring. I didn’t give enough thought to what it would be like in the summer. I think they’re done for.”

He looked so forlorn that Dean reached out without thinking and patted his shoulder roughly. “We can plant more next year. And they may stick it out.” He cleared his throat and let his hand drop to his side. “I don’t like bell peppers anyway.”

Cas flashed him a grin as he knelt down next to the bed to lift up a leaf. “I hope you like zucchini, then. They’re doing alarmingly well.”

“Looks like I’m going to have to learn how to cook zucchini.” Dean thrust out a hand to help Cas back to his feet, ignoring the tiny inexplicable thrill as Cas grabbed it to pull himself up. He hesitated as Cas let go of his hand before taking a breath. “Cas, I … thanks.”

He expected to have to explain, to put into words that he was grateful for not just the peace of mind the garden had brought him, but the opportunity to share something that wasn’t bloodstained and framed in death and guilt. For the chance to spend silent afternoons strengthening their friendship without saying a word. For giving Dean something to think about other than the next hunt.

But Cas didn’t ask for an explanation. He just smiled, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes showing that it was genuine, and pulled Dean into a brief one-armed hug, as though he already knew everything Dean wanted to say.

* * *

 It was nearly impossible to do anything in the garden without Cas knowing about it, especially now, when the early autumn vegetables were practically ripening before their eyes. It finally took Dean faking food poisoning to get two measly days while Cas played backup for Sam on a short hunt, and even though it rained steadily for both of them, Dean used the time wisely.

It wasn’t anything overly impressive, but he was fairly certain that the bench would at least hold weight, and the arbor that arched over it did match the trellises of the beds on either side of it. Exhausted and soaked to the bone, Dean returned to the bunker to await Sam and Cas’s arrival.

He knew Cas; he should have known that even if it was dark, checking the garden would be the first thing Cas would do. He shouldn’t have been startled at the pounding at his bedroom door at half past nine, even if he was mostly asleep.

“Dean,” Cas said even before Dean had the door all the way open. “You…”

Cas’s entire face was practically glowing, his smile wider than Dean had ever seen it. Dean could feel himself start to blush. “Yeah,” was all he could think of to say, and then Cas was wrapping his arms tightly around him.

He hadn’t expected Cas’s response to be so exuberant, and Dean blinked for a moment before circling his arms around him to return the hug. “It’s just a bench,” he muttered, embarrassed and not sure why, but then Cas shifted and Dean felt him hesitate - and then press his lips briefly to Dean’s cheek.

Dean froze, every muscle tensing in surprise. Cas must have felt it, because he stepped back, turning away, eyes shut in mortification. “That was - I’m sorry, I -”

“Cas.” Dean reached out and grabbed Cas by the shoulder before he could get too far. “Don’t be sorry.” The words felt unwieldy, clumsy in his mouth, completely inadequate but still somehow too much. Dean suspected it was the gentle pressure on Cas’s shoulder more than the words that made him turn back, eyes still downcast in something close to shame. “Hey,” Dean said, mouth dry, as he reached out with his other hand and gently tipped Cas’s chin up. Cas flinched in surprise at the touch, but didn’t pull away, instead looking up to meet Dean’s eyes.

There was a question there, a simple, hopeful inquiry, and Dean recognized it. The same question had been floating beneath the comfortable silence of their evenings, behind every grin when their eyes met, woven through the spark of every accidental touch. It was a wordless question, and its very nature required a wordless answer.

There was really only one way for Dean to respond.

* * *

 The wooden slats of the bench were wet, and the night air held the crisp edge that promised a brisk autumn. Cas was barely more than a darker outline against the black of the night, the lights from the bunker doing little to illuminate this far. Rain still dripped from the taller plants, a miniscule, tuneless symphony surrounding them with its gentle patter.

“I can’t count how many times I wanted to say something,” Cas said quietly. “But … everything was so perfect … I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Dean pulled Cas more closely against his side, turning his face to bury his nose in Cas’s unruly hair. It was strange, how the gesture of intimacy came so easily to him, how right it felt, despite the nervous swoop in his stomach as he did so. “What changed your mind?”

“This was you.” Cas ran a hand over the wood of the bench. “Everything else here was - it started out mine. You helped, but … this was the first thing you’ve done. To make it … to make it ours.”

Dean licked his lips. “I didn’t really see it like that,” he admitted. “I guess I always thought it was ours.”

Cas exhaled softly in a quiet laugh. “I guess it always was. Ever since the little herb garden.”

Chuckling softly, Dean’s eyes fell on the corner of the garden where the herbs now grew. “Nearly forgot about that thing. More than a year ago, now.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe we took this long.”

“Gardening is all about patience.” Cas shifted, nuzzling closer. “Takes time for things to bloom. Can’t rush it.”

The chill was starting to settle into Dean’s bones; the only place he was still truly warm was where Cas’s body pressed against his. Dean closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh. They’d have to go inside soon. Sam would likely be absolutely unbearable in his smugness. But for now…

For now, they’d sit surrounded by the shelter they’d built, comforted by the companionable silence that had, all along, been the quiet sound of affection growing between them both.


End file.
